Transition, to a future

Float away. Disappear. End your meaningless existence.

For an existence to be meaningful at least one human being must find it meaningful. But not even you yourself find any meaning to your life. The worse part is that you don’t even see the possibility of it having meaning one day.

Just exit silently. No need for a dramatic scene. No need to make the bad worse, and the pathetic heartbreaking. You’ve lost enormous pride and self-love throughout the years but it’s always been on the inside. Continue this tradition. Let your bitterness die unnoticed with you. Your dream of being someone who will be remembered for generations was not accomplished. But don’t let your death be an example for parents of how neglect, loneliness, and self-love can grow into something truly horrific.

View this as being part of some cycle. View this as the right decision in the worst of circumstances. Maybe you have been a terrible person in a past life, and this life has been the punishment. “At least the worst has already happened” is something you have repeated many times. Don’t you realize your life has a negative slope and every new moment of existence is a new worst (just by the very fact that more time has passed)?

Fighting me is the worst you can do. You know how honest I am being. Some things are better not contested. Have the courage to give up. Have the courage to submit. Have the courage to kneel in tears. Have the courage to exit silently instead of existing silently.

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Unsent messages of a troubled lover (what remained of the bits and pieces)

I sent her my notes, and she missed the three classes after that so far. Those were her first absences, and I know that because I have checked up on her everyday.

I was puzzled: Did she leave because of me or for other reasons? If she left because of me, was she bothered or in pain just like me? But it was all irrelevant. I have lost her forever. She took away the only medium of our meeting.

After I sent the notes, I imagined the worst scenario to be that she would show up and pretend like she’s read nothing. I realize now that that would have been heaven. The worst scenario is the one she’s chosen: For our story to end before it begins, just like an aborted child, or a seed that couldn’t reach the surface. I know I got carried away, but I have a good justification. My gut feeling which I have always trusted, was usually laid back. Never before has it pushed to sit next to someone, to talk to them, to be silly only in order to initiate something (anything), to ask them out in front of a fairly large group of observers. It gave me the illusion of confidence. I was certain that my gut feeling has only awaken this time because there was something.

My hope now is simply to get to see her again on campus. Not as strangers, as we used to be, but as love and admiration on one side and hate and disgust on the other. I don’t even hope for eye-contact, I simply want to see her acting like herself as a neutral observer.

The first thing I wrote, one week after I have seen her for the first time: “A spark. A candle in a dark desert night. A feeling of weightlessness, of floating in the air. An ability to feel the blood traveling through every cell. A primal instinct guiding every thought, decision, and action.”

“One key ingredient of so-called experience is the delusional faith that it is unique and special, that those included in it are privileged and those excluded from it are missing out” -Jennifer Egan, A Visit From The Goon Squad

“Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?

Why are you hiding, darling?

(I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze,

I cannot get out, said the starling.)” -Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

I have changed my pen to a pencil, and retired the clothes I wore when she said no. Weak attempts to feel less helpless.

The next two days [after she rejected me] were cold and rainy, I deserved neither warmth nor comfort.

I said “I want to be close enough to know what exists, but far enough to suffer alone without humiliation” and I was shown both, the pinnacle of female beauty and the pinnacle of male suffering.

Unsent messages of a troubled lover (4)

It has been a while since I have seen the sweetest rejecting smile.

What I find most depressing about how things turned out is that I realize I will not see you the same way I do today. I am aware of the effect time has on these situations. How your face will be blurred, and your perfect qualities diluted. I am aware of how my deceptive mind will tell me I will find someone like you, even though you are one-in-a-universe, one-in-an-eternity, One and only, unmatched and incomparable.

The deepest sorrow I find in knowing that you were, but you won’t be. My dearest [X], I don’t want to be denied the capacity to miss you just like I was denied your love. To be denied the capacity to feel pain for your rejection is to be denied life. In fact, I wish when time takes away the pain of losing you, that it would take my eyes with it and turn me blind, and my mind with it and turn me non-existent.

My dearest [X], do not mistake my appearance for contentment. My sleep has become more exhausting than my wake. My wake has become a bitter condemnation of every circumstance and decision that led me to being the person you would reject. But that is not for you to worry about.

I realize that I am trembling, and that my message lacks any structure that it is barely coherent. But how can I be coherent parting with you forever, when I couldn’t be coherent asking you out, hoping to be lovers forever?

You are the person I desire the most, and you are the person I have desired the most in all my years of being. My eyes see you as the perfection you are, and all the others as silhouettes that are only visible if they restrict my view of you. You are my welcome pain, my burning pleasure, my potion of honey and poison that I wanted to die drinking. But it spreads darkness in my heart to admit of how, through time, a one-sided love is continuously diluted. Not to zero, never to zero. My [X], some thing, let alone my overflowing feelings for you, can never turn into nothing.

This sounds like a farewell letter, and it might be. For anything I do after you have rejected me is a nuisance that I cannot taint your existence with. You have affected me deeply, and my candle for you will remain forever lit. But I cannot decide anything against your will, even in search for something as precious as your love.

I give up to your wishes, I submit to your will. Forgive me if you find my eyes in avoidance and my body distant, but… you understand.

My dearest, [X], I love you, and you will never hear from me again.

Unsent messages of a troubled lover (3)

It was the longest two-minutes conversation, the longest bus ride home, and the longest time I have ever took to change and neatly place my (specially picked) clothes in the drawer. That’s where they should remain forever, and if they couldn’t win me your favor, they are of no use.

I use ‘win’ rather than ‘earn’ your favor on purpose. My dear [X], there was never any doubt in my mind that you were above every man’s league. There was never any doubt that I am to you what a moth is to a radiant light, what a slave is to a goddess. But it is not uncommon for a slave to pitifully fall for a goddess.

I am truly sorry to have been that awkward incident in your history. But, you see, my plan was to make our own brilliant history. Forgive me, and forget me.

See, [X], I was more in shock and denial than in pain. Our conversation seems foggy, as if it happened years ago or in another life. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know it definitely deviated from the lines I have memorized ever since I met you. I remember my pause, when the small talk was over, and your lovely eyes were inquiring of why I asked to talk to you. The part I clearly remember, is that you smiled, looked away, rejected me, and said sorry. Your friend, who excused us, was watching from afar. I passed by her leaving while looking at the ground, half of my mouth courteously smiling, and the other half could not be moved at all.

There is a very small part of me that, kind of, believes (or hopes) I did not ask you out, and you did not give me the solid and clear excuse of having a boyfriend back home. The arguments that I have devised for a possible rejection became irrelevant. Could I accuse you of lying when you were being sweet and caring? Even if you did have a boyfriend, could I advice you to leave him for me and, by the same logic, leave me for your next admirer?

I wonder, did I ruin the possibility by looking for certainty? If this never happened, maybe you would have always stayed my possible true love. The girl that I will think about everyday with the possibility that she does like me back.

I wonder, if I should move to a different French class. Seeing you everyday, close but unattainable, might prove to be too much. But I think, maybe, just maybe, one day, for some reason, you might love me back. Maybe my fault was not looking at you, not talking to you, or not smiling at you enough.

See, the problem is, moths do not understand that they cannot acquire the light, and they keep crashing into it over and over and over. You might say I just need to “unlove” you, and to move on. But, see, the problem is, even if you were the most narcissistic woman, you will never have the slightest idea of the effect you have on me, and on every other moth.

Unsent messages of a troubled lover (2)

My pain, my pleasure. My share of heaven, and my due of hell. You have given me the highest amount of hope and fear.

I long to be with you, and I long for you to be with me. I want to possess as much of your mind as your radiating soul possesses of mine.

I want history. I want to remember how we were just before I die, as a crowning achievement, a life’s highlight.

I want our eyes to meet not as strangers filled with only the weakest of guesses. I want to see our past through your eyes, to remember every moment I looked you in the eye as a lover. I want to see how your eyes look when the see someone they truly love. I want the blood to rush faster through your heart whenever you see me, your cheeks to blush, and your lips to smile. I want to see on your body the effects of your love for me.

I love the way you speak, I love to watch your lips and tongue moving in harmony to form the most appealing sounds. And although your radiance sucks in the gazes of every human being, I have loved your not-so-easily-visible bits. I love that muscle under your knee, on the back of your leg. I love the part where your neck meets your shoulders. I love the area between your eyes and your cheeks. I love the part of your jaws that forms a sharp angle connecting your chin to your cheeks.

Dear [X], your radiance emits life wherever it goes. I will seek you like a thirsty man seeks a mirage in the middle of the desert, not seeming to get closer or further away no matter how fast he runs. The hours of looking at you were very well rewarded with the seconds of eye-contact we’ve had. My mind is already exhausted trying to weigh the possibility of being with you and the likelihood of this being another torture inflicted by life upon me. But I promise you that I will gladly trade an eternity of fixing my eyes on you, my mouth towards your ears, and my body to your proximity, for one second of a look, a word, or a touch that you endow upon my existence.

Unsent messages of a troubled lover (1)

The details of your beauty are too rich to be memorized at all times. I recall them a second, and forget them the next. Then comes the reconstruction.

Your eyes, I swear, were made not to see but to be seen. Your lips, pinkish-red, were portals that I wished would never close only to have a valid excuse to examine them more. Your cheeks held your sleepy eyes high and connected them flawlessly to your taking lips.

Every time I see you, I get to be amazed by your beauty as if I have never seen you before. And every time, my heart beat accelerates trying to carry me next to you.

The hardest thing to do in my case is to not do anything, to feel the presence of your soul while realizing it is not time for it to meet mine yet. But I will wait, I will bite my lips and watch you from afar, for a beauty like you is not to be rushed.

Je vous aime, mademoiselle, mais je dois attendre.